It’s fun. Genuinely, unexpectedly fun. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to play, to imagine, to exist without constant vigilance. Even at the Enclave, leisure activities were structured and evaluated, designed to showcase Omega grace and charm rather than genuine enjoyment.
“No, no, Auntie Maya,” Elise corrects me earnestly as I place a block in the wrong position. “The princess’s library has to face north, so she can see the stars while she reads.”
“Of course,” I say, adjusting the block. “How thoughtless of me.”
“It’s okay,” she assures me with the magnanimity of a child. “Uncle Logan makes mistakes too, and Great-Grandmother says he’s going to be the best king ever.”
I glance at Logan, curious about his reaction to this casual pronouncement of his future. His expression is carefully neutral, but I catch a flicker of something in his eyes—discomfort, perhaps, or uncertainty.
“Being king is a big responsibility,” I say, watching Logan as I speak. “Even the best kings make mistakes sometimes.”
“That’s why they need good people to help them,” Elise says, repeating what is clearly a lesson she’s been taught. “Great-Grandmother says a wise king listens more than he speaks.”
Logan’s mouth quirks in a half-smile. “Great-Grandmotherhas many opinions on what makes a wise king,” he observes. “Most of which involve me doing exactly as she advises.”
“She is very smart,” Elise says loyally. “And very old. Old people know lots of things.”
“They certainly do,” I agree, fighting back a smile at her earnest assessment. “Though sometimes they forget that new ideas can be valuable too.”
Logan’s eyes meet mine across the block castle, something like surprise flickering in their golden depths. Did he expect me to side with the Queen Mother’s traditional views? To advocatefor the status quo that has kept Omegas like me subordinate for generations?
“New ideas like princesses who read astronomy and negotiate with dragons?” he suggests, his tone light but his gaze intent on my face.
“Exactly,” I reply, holding his gaze. “The old stories don’t always have to end the same way.”
Something passes between us in that moment—an understanding, perhaps, or at least the beginning of one. For all our differences, for all the hurt and anger that still simmers between us, we both want change. We both envision a Melilla different from the one ruled by King Leopold.
The question is whether our visions are compatible. Whether the change Logan seeks as a future king aligns with the freedom I crave as an Omega.
Elise, oblivious to the undercurrents of our exchange, yawns widely, the late afternoon catching up with her boundless energy. “I’m tired,” she announces. “Will you both be here when I wake up?”
“Nanny will have to take over,” Logan tells her. “But I’ll certainly visit again soon.”
Elise turns to me, her dark eyes serious. “Will you? I want to show you my books about dragons. They have pictures.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at her simple request. “I’d like that,” I say, surprised to find I mean it. “Perhaps tomorrow?”
She nods, satisfied with this arrangement, then holds up her arms to Logan in a clear request to be carried. He complies with practiced ease, lifting her as he rises to his feet. I notice he’s careful to use his left arm, sparing his injured ribs on the right side.
“Time for your nap, my lady,” he says, carrying her to a small bed in the corner of the nursery. “Dream of dragons and stars.”
“And princesses who read,” Elise mumbles, already half-asleep as Logan tucks a blanket around her.
“And princesses who read,” he agrees softly, brushing a curl from her forehead with unexpected tenderness.
I watch from a distance, struck by this gentle side of Logan I’ve never witnessed before. The care with which he handles Elise, the genuine affection in his voice—it’s at odds with everything I thought I knew about him. About Alphas in general, if I’m being honest.
Once Elise is settled, Logan returns to where I stand by the abandoned block castle. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For indulging her. She doesn’t have many people to play with here.”
“She’s a remarkable child,” I reply truthfully. “The Queen Mother is raising her to question traditional stories. That’s... unexpected.”
Logan’s expression turns thoughtful. “My grandmother has always been more progressive than she appears. She plays the role of traditional royal dowager in public, but in private...” He shrugs. “Let’s just say her views on Omega education and autonomy would shock most of the court.”
“Then why hasn’t she pushed for change?” I ask, genuinely curious. “She clearly has influence.”
“She has,” Logan says, surprising me. “In small ways, over decades. The Omega scholarship program at the Royal University? That was her initiative, though the king takes credit for it. The reforms to Omega inheritance law five years ago? Her work, though she let the Minister of Justice believe it was his idea.”
I absorb this information, reassessing what I thought I knew about the Queen Mother. “She plays a long game.”
